Poetry

What’s Left?

I feel deserted

Like I’ve fucked up so much.

Somehow it was all my fault,

Because it couldn’t be helped.

Because it’s a great life lesson.


Abuse is abuse

There’s no reward from it,

No lesson to learn, no right to make excuses for an abuser.

While they have everything,

I’m on the floor broken.

And now, I’m down here thinking ‘what’s left?’

‘…What’s left of me?’


Slowly, I pull myself from the floor,

Realising…

That I have my strength,

My fire and passion for life.

I know myself, I know who I want to be.

And no one can ever take that away from me.


One of the last sentences you said was,

‘I hope you survived’

I didn’t just survive.

I flourished into a person you could never be.

So, what’s left?

There’s so much.

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